


Thinking of His Dearest Flower

by FaeriesPlayGamesAndWriteThings



Category: Samurai Love Ballad Party - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Kenshin thinking of his lady, Masturbation, big hearts mean big orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 20:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18698323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeriesPlayGamesAndWriteThings/pseuds/FaeriesPlayGamesAndWriteThings
Summary: Kenshin enjoys some quality sexy solo time to thoughts of his leading lady while they are apart.





	Thinking of His Dearest Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Kenshin stared at his hands. They were large, and a little rough from a life that forced him to hold a sword to protect the everyday beauty of his people and their homes and lives. He had long, elegant fingers that ended in blunt nails kept clean with the point of a small blade. He stretched those fingers. He curled them into his callused palm. They were strong hands, strong and beautiful, holding swords and flowers with equal regularity, but unequal joy.

He moved his right hand to his left shoulder, letting his fingers trace the skin where it met his neck. He had a scar. He had many, but the one there spoke to his fingertips as he grazed it, before his fingers followed the broad curve of muscle until it dipped again. His thoughts turned to her shoulders. They were narrow. She was so small and slender. She seemed so slight, a wisp in this world, until you noticed how much heart she had. Her beauty and kindness swelled around her, making her larger than life in his eyes. Those shoulders held the weight of the world without complaint, shouldered the burdens of loved ones without thought. His pale, muscled shoulder was beautiful and strong, but hardly a match for her finely sculpted, feminine strength.

His hand traced the ridges of muscles and tendons down his arm, mapping the shape. He was slender and lithe compared to some lords, but there was no denying his masculine build. A life in defense of others had honed his muscles to divine perfection. He shivered a little at his own light touch. There was something to be said for masculine beauty, for the tightly corded strength he felt. Inwardly, his gaze returned to her, to her arms. Slender again, but lightly toned by a life of cooking, cutting, chopping, and carrying heavy dishes. She was far from weak. Her body was honed by a different method but still sculpted and beautiful. She was so graceful as she danced about the kitchens, orchestrating the meals that sustained them all. She was loveliness itself as her sleeves fell back to reveal small, fine muscles in her delicate arms as she hung the laundry. So lovely was she in his eyes.

He brought both hands up to rest lightly against the firm pectoral muscles below his sharp collarbone. He liked the firm, taut muscles in his chest. He stroked them softly, feeling the roughness of his fingertips tease his sensitive skin. He allowed himself to naturally move his fingers over the planes of his pecs until he brushed each nipple. The little brown nubs peaked under his attention. He pinched them firmly and sighed in pleasure. His mind flashed to her breasts. 

A shame they had been bound when she first arrived. Such beauty should never be bound and hidden. Where his chest was firm planes of muscles with small, sensitive nipples, hers were soft, lush, round globes tipped in the palest pink. The pale pink would flush to raspberry red with her arousal. He shuddered and pinched his nipples again, imagining the way those globes rested high on her chest, imagining the way her larger nipples tightened and peaked the moment his hungry gaze sought them out, as though she could feel it physically touch her and tease her. He loved the way those round mounds of flesh moved and jiggled, bounced and swung. He loved watching her flush creep down from her cheeks, along her elegant neck, until it reached all the way to those beautiful tips, turning them rosy with passion. He could feel them in his hands instead of his firm pectorals. He could feel their weight, their softness, taste those little raspberry peaks he loved to feast on, loved tugging on with his lips and teeth.

He let one hand, his left, remain on his chest, stroking and pinching alternately, as his right moved onward. He mumbled in approval as his fingers found delightfully sculpted abdominal muscles. He stretched and arched, feeling the way his muscles worked, how they moved under his gentle caresses. He liked the feel of it all. He liked the feel of her soft stomach. Her abdomen didn't have these nicely defined ridges and dips, no tight rows and columns of flex and form. Her stomach was mostly flat, the skin so soft it almost made him afraid to touch her with the roughness on the pads of his fingers. It dipped in a line down her middle, leading him to her navel, where her belly rounded so slightly. It was a soft little spot he loved to rest his head on. He loved to run his tongue down that dip, into her navel and place gentle kisses on that slightly rounded spot. He imagined the way she shivered as his tongue followed that path in his mind. He could almost hear the sighs and quiet moans of pleasure as he moved down her body. Her skin tasted so soft, so very very soft. 

He let his hand move down and followed a path to his hip, down along his firm, thick thigh, and up the inside. He cupped his tight sac in his palm and gentled massaged, tugging slightly. He tickled his way up the underside of his erect shaft until he reached the swollen purple-pink head of his cock. He scooped up the tiny bead of his arousal and brought it to his lips to taste the salty drop. When his hand returned, it wrapped tightly around his girth, squeezing himself in a firm grip. He began pumping and stroking as he thought again of her. 

Their bodies were so different. While he had this long, thick, pulsing rod in his fist, her body gave way to a tight, wet place of velvet heat. He thought of parting her plump, shapely thighs and peeking at the pink petals of her womanhood. She unfurled before his eyes. Such lovely shades of pink and red, glazed with her sweet arousal. Like dew or honey, sliding along the folds that mesmerized and enticed. He jerked himself harder as he imagined dipping in for a taste. His cock was hot against his fingers, throbbing thickly in time to his wild heartbeat. She tasted so good. She was a little sweet, a little tart, a sweet tangy flavor that was hers alone. He loved to follow the contours of her petals, to tease those folds until the little pearl, hidden, was revealed. He loved the sounds she made when he tickled and teased her to the heights of pleasure with his tongue and fingers.

A light sheen of sweat now coated all those powerful, masculine muscles he had explored on his own body. He still plucked at his nipple now and then with his free hand, but more and more, he found himself pressing his palm over his pounding heart. He thought of her body, of her delicate build, her feminine strength, her soft and sweet curves. He thought of the tight heat of her body made for taking this hard shaft he gripped roughly now. He knew just how good it felt to sink deep into her body. To feel her inner walls pull him in, swallow him, as though to join them as close as it was possible for two people to be. 

He felt so close to something, something big that would shake his entire body. He thought of her. He imagined her smile, her eyes, her voice, her laughter, all of her. He thought of her heart, so big it made her seem bigger. That was what he needed. That is what sent his pleasure over the top, the thought of her heart, her love. Then he was cresting, soaring, flying toward her. His grip tightened, he arched up and bent over himself, watching as rivers of milky white seed poured from his tip and spilled over his fingers and down the back of his hand. He felt the hot, silky glide of it over his belly and his balls. He wished it was her. He wanted to see it on her soft skin, the soft skin of her throat, her breasts, her belly, the sweet curve of her backside. More than anything, he wanted to feel it as he poured it into the cradle of her body, deep inside the sweetness between her thighs. He wanted to fill her pussy until it dribbled out and down her thighs.

He laid himself back down again, panting and feeling his racing heart start to slow and calm. He admired the glistening mess of his body. He thought of the mess he wanted to make of hers. It was so true. Everything was beautiful, everyone was beautiful in their own way. His body was a work of muscled art. Hers was lovely in its softness. It really was true. Beauty had no gender. But love, his love was her and her alone.


End file.
